


ghosts

by ignitesthestars



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 07:02:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12249351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignitesthestars/pseuds/ignitesthestars
Summary: He’s not real.It’s what Annabeth tells herself when she sees him, when he speaks, when he fights with the ferocity and abandon of a man who’s already dead. Sure, he bleeds when he’s cut, but so do gods. So do her dreams, whether it’s a monster’s teeth or hers.





	ghosts

He’s not real.

It’s what Annabeth tells herself when she sees him, when he speaks, when he fights with the ferocity and abandon of a man who’s already dead. Sure, he bleeds when he’s cut, but so do gods. So do her dreams, whether it’s a monster’s teeth or hers.

(She keeps looking behind her, like maybe that will make him disappear).

They’re saving the world again, although she’s not sure if the first time counts for him, so there’s no ignoring the situation. Luke Castellan, back from the dead, back from hell, lurking at her back like he’s not sure if he wants to watch it or stab it.

 _Did you ever love me_ he’d asked, and at sixteen she’d just been relieved at some flicker of the boy she’d known. _Did you ever love me_ he’d asked, and at twenty two she’s just angry at the man who had failed so thoroughly in deserving it.

(How dare he ask that and die. How dare he come back and not ask again).

“It was easy to love you when you were dead,” she tells him one night, because he’s an open wound and he’s rubbing her raw and it’s only fair if she can dig her nails into him in turn

They’re on a quest and it’s already ill-fated with just the two of them, but that’s who’s left. Annabeth leans back on her hands and watches the flames of their campfire lick over the scar on his face as he stares into it, refuses to look at her.

“You shouldn’t love me,” he tells the fire eventually. “Dead or alive.”

“I can’t stand you.”

“You haven’t killed me yet.”

“You’re already dead.”

He has her knife. The one lost to Tartarus, the one that had killed him. The first thing he’d done when he’d seen her was offer it back; Percy had nearly murdered him all over again, thinking he wanted to attack.

They don’t talk about Percy. She’d told Luke to keep the knife, and his promises with it. Whatever part of her that had forgiven the man really needed him to stay in the ground for it to hold.

Luke snorts. They’re close, or at least her feet are close to his thigh, although he’s careful not to touch her. 

“You'd think that meant I've got nothing to lose.”

He doesn't look away when he says it and the fire throws his face into some kind of angelic relief and he's not real anyway.

He's not real and Annabeth is alone and lonely and falling apart quest by quest, so when she crawls across the gulf between them, it doesn't count.

It doesn't count when she winds her fist into his shirt. Doesn't count when she drags his mouth down to hers.

“You shouldn't,” he breathes. She inhales the words, the way his lips barely trace over hers when he says them.

“Shut up,” she says.

He does.


End file.
